


Do Not Go Gently, Snow; There is too Much at Stake

by Des98



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Original work - Freeform, Other, Twisted Fairy Tales, WIP, alternate fairy tales, fractured fairy tales, work-in-progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 09:23:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14133081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des98/pseuds/Des98
Summary: An original work that I am doing based on idea that just popped into my head one day.What if Snow White's step-mother wasn't evil?  What if there was a different reason for her distance from the little princess?  What if there was so much more at stake than beauty, and what if being the fairest was actually a curse?





	1. Chapter 1

           The queen held her head in her hands and sighed, again cursing little Snow’s mother for her foolishness.  It was a costly mistake, to pray for a little girl over the drops of her blood.  Had the sweet but ignorant woman ever studied magic, she would have known that any prayer made over blood, even just a drop from a needle, would come at a grave price.  The blood magic the old queen had prayed over had collected in her womb, and the child resulting had taken her life in the birth not because the queen was too frail, but because the child was too strong.  A wish made upon such unstable and dark magic as blood had resulted in a child with a supernova of unstable magical power.  The baby was deathly ill, her tiny body unable to support the power within.  Her father, disappointed that the baby wasn’t a boy and that his wife was dead, could barely bring himself to look at the child.  In light of these events, it was truly lucky for little Snow White that her rich and influential parents had forced her into a union with the newly-unmarried king. 

            The regent’s deep brown hair tumbled down her shoulders in soft waves as she removed the pins with one soft, caramel-colored hand.  The child’s magic was getting harder and harder to contain every day.  Maravignia, for that was the queen’s name, knew that her parents would have berated her for her decision to take the child’s magic into herself to save her life, as it would mean that her future children would be behind in the line of succession, but Mara did not regret it.  Her husband, brash, rude, and not at all like the benevolent monarch he was portrayed to be throughout the kingdom, was a disappointment, but his daughter had captured her heart immediately.  Her large green eyes and shock of dark hair falling over her soft little face and the ruby lips that mewed so delightedly as she watched the birds flitter outside the nursery window- she was a vision, and Maravignia could not have smothered the desire to save the child even if she had wanted to be the sole royal woman in the castle. 

            Her family had a moderate thread of magical ability, lesser than that as seen across the ocean in the tropical isles where the dragons flew, but greater than any other in the kingdom, as inborn magic was very rare in these cold northern areas.  She had used this to perform the ritual to take little Snow’s magic into her own body, but at great personal cost.  Mother Magic had no concept of kindness or cruelty, only of price- there was no other way.  She had sacrificed her own fertility to save the child from the ferocious tide of magic that threatened to destroy her.  Now Mara spent every day in pain, having to stay largely away from her beloved step-daughter, as the magic spent hour after hour straining to go back to its source.  Maravignia could normally only spare a few minutes giving the little girl a kind word or a peck on the cheek before the pain of holding back the magic threatened to bring her to her knees.  Her pretty face had doomed her to this fate- no matter how rich her parents were, the king wouldn’t have consented to take her for his wife if she hadn’t been the _fairest._ She never would have met the child who she sacrificed so much for, wouldn’t have even known about her existence.  Yet she didn’t regret.

            But the pain was getting worse and worse as the days went on- the magic was straining against her, and though her beauty was as plain as ever, she could feel herself weakening.  The exhaustion of running a kingdom- her husband had no desire to tend to such mundanity- and continually putting forth the effort to keep the spell maintained was draining her.  She sighed and rubbed her fingers against her temples as she picked up the simple silver hand mirror on her dressing table.       

            “Hello, fairest,” the glass echoed as she opened her mouth to ask for its advice.

            “Cut that out.  I have no patience for your jokes tonight,” Mara responded, exhaustion weighing her down as the explosive tide of Snow’s magic seemed to burn deep within her very bones. 

            “Oh, we are bitter tonight.”  The mirror clucked, which, despite its lack of a face, conveyed an aura of chastisement.  “Still sulking that you can’t see that little slip of a brat without doubling over, are we?”

            “Don’t call her a brat, and while you’re at it, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.  I need to know why it’s getting harder to maintain the spell.”  Maravignia ground her teeth painfully.  The only light in this marriage (besides her precious few moments with Snow each day) was that she had been able to get away from her domineering mother.  Yet _of course_ the magic mirror she’d been given as a wedding gift would have her snark.

            “You should know that a spell of this magnitude takes an immense amount of strength to maintain.  It’s not meant for long-term use.  It’s been five years now and you’re running out of strength.  You won’t be able to hold it much longer.  And if you die, well, the magic goes back to the girl, and then where will she be?” 

            “Stop taunting me and just _tell me what to do._ ”  If she didn’t need this damned thing so much, it would have been tossed in the lake on her wedding night. 

            “You know that you’re dabbling in magic that started from blood.  The mere sacrifice of your ability to bear children isn’t enough.  No, if you want to be able to hold the magic until the child is old enough to have a chance at surviving with it, what started with blood must end with blood.” 

            “Enough of your riddles,” the queen ground out, her sense of foreboding threatening to overwhelm her. 

            “You can be such a slow creature,” the mirror laughed, clearly enjoying her discontent.  “If I must, I’ll spell it out for you.  The magic was given to the girl based on a foolish wish over her mother’s blood.  The only thing that can maintain the strength of the spell is the blood of her family.”

            “You mean…”

            “If you truly wish to continue destroying your health for the sake of this child, then you must kill her father and imbibe his still-beating heart.  Only then will you have the strength to save Snow White from her destiny.”


	2. Chapter 2

         Maravignia had, despite her weak and exhausted state and the stress of running the kingdom, spent weeks researching an alternate solution to killing Snow’s father, but, as she’d felt in her soul the night she last talked to her mirror, there was nothing else to be done, not if she wanted to save Snow.  She could feel herself waning more rapidly by the day, and if she kept losing her strength like this, she would be dead by the changing of the season.  Then where would her little girl be?  Suffering, scared and unfamiliar with the tsunami tide of power engulfing her.  It would take a mage with centuries of experience to be able to hold the magic with even a modicum of comfort; the fact that Mara hadn’t been consumed by it within a week of the first ritual was a testament to her strength and the bearing of a true queen.  To maintain a hold on such magic was like shouldering the sky, day after day, year after year. 

          The research suggested that if she did this, if she sacrificed her husband, then she would be able to hold out until Snow’s sixteenth birthday before she had nothing left to give.  The queen wasn’t going to try to fool herself- it wasn’t a question of _if_ this magic would kill her, but of _when_.  Then it would be Snow’s turn to fight the tide and run the kingdom: things she must learn without Maravignia, for Maravignia could not physically tolerate the child’s presence for longer than a quarter hour, at most, before she began to feel the cold breath of Mother Death, almost hear the hooves of her skeletal steed.

          Whatever the outcome, Mother Death _must_ take her husband; he was expendable.  The kingdom needed Mara; Snow White needed Mara.  His majesty was nothing more than a figure-head, but his daughter, his _daughter_ \- Mara was convinced she was blessed by the Mothers, fated to bring peace to their lands and their people and end the war with suffering and famine that all of Maravignia’s efforts could only just keep at bay.  Yes, the king must die.  For their daughter, for their kingdom, the king must die.  And she must be the one call Mother Death to him. 

_Something red, like the lifeblood of the heart._

_Something blue, the color of ashen, lifeless skin._

_Something black, like the robes of Mother Death._

_And something purple, the color of Mother Magic,_

_by whose grace you call Mother Death to you._

         A purple dress, a black cloak, a ruby necklace, and a blue pin to hold caramel locks out of her face as the fairest in the land killed the kingdom’s leading man.  These were gathered, without thought or time spared for anything with the semblance of regret.

_A knife with a blade from Mother Earth’s most precious mine_

_No tears, death must come with clearest eyes_

_By Sister Beauty or by Health must be thee blessed,_

_Mother Death is partial to a pretty face and strong constitution,_

_And thus, more likely to honor the plea_

_Sister Mercy nowhere nearby as Mother Life takes her leave_

_Let his heart stain your lips as you imbibe_

_Once all is done_

_His body must go to Mother Ocean,_

_The largest wife of Mother Death_

          A knife of diamonds: unsurprising, really, that Mother Earth’s portion of the spell needed her most rare, and thus most powerful, resource.  Death Magic was the only Magic that required each of the Mothers; the only force powerful enough to end all things, and thus to require all things.  Mother Death ruled them all; next came her four wives: Mother Earth, Mother Ocean, Mother Magic, and Mother Life.  Then were her four sisters: Mercy, Beauty, Plenty, and Health.  She had many daughters, too numerous to name, and each were responsible for some small part of the workings of the world.  Maravignia was said to have been born under the eye of Sister Beauty, with her astounding looks, but this did not help her now.  She needed to cast with under the eye of all the mothers, and her own magic was not sufficient to complete the spell.  Another sacrifice was needed.  She could not give to Sister Mercy; Sister Mercy was forbidden anywhere in the vicinity of the casting.  She could not sacrifice her beauty, although she be willing, for mother Death, as the spell required that she have either Beauty or Health, and her health was gone, worn away by the spell.  That left Sister Plenty.  Eleven years of famine would be the price of the spell, the price of her stepdaughter’s life.

       There was nothing else to be done; the king and kingdom must suffer so that Snow could thrive- should Snow thrive long enough to survive the magic, the kingdom would thrive again, greater than before.  But it would require the price of a murder by her hand and by her casting, and countless more deaths as a result of her actions.  She would be a monster, a villain who condemned her lands and her people to suffer.  Yet she too would suffer: eleven years of knowledge and guilt, and then a painful death as the magic ripped her body apart to return to the source.  But it was the price that must be paid.  The Mothers saw only in black and white; shades of grey were for Sisters and Daughters.  So it had always been, so it would always be. 

 


End file.
